What The Husband Stitch Taught Me About Craft

Reading Carmen Maria Machado’s The Husband Stitch through the lens of a creative writer reveals just how intentionally built every part of the story truly is. When I stop reading purely for plot and begin noticing how the story is made, the entire experience shifts. Suddenly, I’m watching not only what the narrator feels, but how Machado creates those feelings inside me.

Where the Energy Comes From

The energy in this story doesn’t come from explosions or sudden twists. It comes from something quieter, more unsettling: repetition, implication, and boundary‑crossing. The green ribbon, introduced early and returned to again and again, becomes the heartbeat of the story. It hums beneath the surface, a small, simple object charged with enormous emotional weight. Every time the husband asks about it, the tension tightens. Every time the narrator protects it, a defiant spark flares.

That ribbon is the story’s engine. It’s what keeps me leaning forward, breath held, waiting.

Why I Keep Reading

Machado keeps the piece interesting by blending familiarity with strangeness. The story feels like a fairy tale, a love story, and a horror story all at once, soft and tender one moment, uncanny the next. That blend creates unpredictability. I keep reading because each scene raises a new question:

• What does the ribbon protect?
• Why can’t he leave it alone?
• How much can love take before it fractures?

The story’s momentum isn’t loud; it whispers. But the whisper is impossible to ignore.

When I Look Away, and When I’m Pulled Back In

There are moments I feel myself pull back. Not because the story is confusing, but because it’s emotionally precise. The narrator’s boundaries are pushed in small, persistent ways that feel painfully familiar. These aren’t dramatic acts of violence; they are the soft, socially accepted pressures placed on women again and again.

Spacing out becomes a kind of defense. Machado touches nerves that exist outside the story too.

But I’m drawn back in because the narration feels intimate and confessional, a voice speaking directly into my ear. It feels like the narrator has opened a door only wide enough for me to enter. That closeness is irresistible.

Patterns, Lessons, and New Ways of Seeing

Reading like a writer means noticing what works on me, and why. Through this story, I see how: 

• Love and entitlement can blur
• A boundary can be eroded by insistence, not force
• Silence becomes its own language
• Fairy tales hide darker truths we were never taught to question

I pay attention to how Machado builds dread without spectacle, how she uses pattern and rhythm to make the story throb with emotional tension, and how the simplest object, a green ribbon, becomes a symbol that transforms every scene it touches.

By the end, I see the stories I grew up with differently. What seemed whimsical now reveals what it always carried: expectations of obedience, sacrifice, and silence.

Machado makes me notice who is allowed to be whole, and who is asked to unravel.

A Poem from the Ribbon’s Perspective

As part of my reflection, I imagined the ribbon not as an object, but as a voice. Here is the poem that grew from that idea.

The Quietest No

I marked the boundary

she could not utter out loud.

Thin and green,

a line between her body

and the wanting that would not stop.

He thought I was something to claim,

something to loosen,

something small and insignificant.

He never saw how tightly I held

what remained of her.

I felt his fingers,

I felt his want,

the promise of unravelling.

I was the last thing

she ever asked the world to leave intact.

I was only a ribbon.

The quietest no she ever whispered.

Work Cited:

Machado, C. M. (2014). The husband stitch. Granta, 129. https://granta.com/the-husband-stitch/

[Written for ENGL 2800 class UVU Spring 2026]
aB . All Rights Reserved . 2026

The Odyssey: The Original Road-Trip-Gone-Wrong (and It's Modern Echo in O Brother Where Art Thou?)

I just finished listening to the audiobook of The Odyssey, and honestly, it’s wild how this ancient epic poem, written nearly 3,000 years ago by Homer, still reads like the ultimate “road trip gone wrong.” Odysseus’s journey home after the Trojan War lasts ten years, and along the way, he encounters gods with grudges, monsters with big appetites, shipwrecks, curses, temptations, and, let’s be honest, a whole lot of consequences for pride.

At its heart, The Odyssey is the story of a man trying to get back home to his wife, Penelope, and his son Telemachus. But every time he gets close, something gets in the way. Sometimes the obstacles come from petty gods. Sometimes from Odysseus himself. And sometimes from his crew, who seem constitutionally incapable of making good choices.

Here is a quick run-through of Odysseus's very bad travel itinerary.

The Cicones
Right after leaving Troy, his crew raids a city, overstays their welcome, and gets attacked. This is our first sign that Odysseus cannot control his men, and that their bad decisions will be a recurring theme.

The Lotus-Eaters
They land in a place where eating the lotus flower makes you forget everything you care about. Odysseus has to drag his zoned‑out sailors back onto the ship.

The Cyclops (Polyphemus)
A giant one‑eyed monster eats several of Odysseus’s men. They escape by blinding him, but Odysseus, being Odysseus, can’t resist bragging as he sails away. Unfortunately, Polyphemus’s dad is Poseidon, who hears the boast and curses him.
This is why the trip takes ten years. Pride: 1, Odysseus: 0.

Circe
A witch-goddess turns the men into pigs. Odysseus outsmarts her, and she ends up being a helpful host… and his lover… for an entire year.

The Underworld
Odysseus consults the prophet Tiresias, who basically tells him that things will get worse before they get better and that trouble awaits him at home, too.

The Sirens
Their haunting singing drives sailors mad, so the crew plugs their ears with wax and ties Odysseus to the mast so he can safely listen without leaping to his doom.

Scylla & Charybdis
A six‑headed monster on one side, a deadly whirlpool on the other. Odysseus navigates between them and loses more men in the process.

The Cattle of the Sun God
Odysseus warns his crew not to touch the sacred cattle. They do it anyway. Zeus punishes them by destroying the ship and killing everyone except Odysseus.

Calypso
A nymph falls in love with him and keeps him captive for seven years. He eventually gets released, but only because the gods intervene.

The Phaeacians
They find Odysseus washed up on the shore, listen to his whole story, and finally bring him home to Ithaca.

Meanwhile, back in Ithica...

Odysseus’s home is falling apart: Over 100 suitors have moved into the palace. They’re eating all the food and demanding Penelope pick a new husband. Telemachus, now grown, is trying to hold things together but is outnumbered.

When Odysseus returns, he disguises himself as a beggar. He reunites with Telemachus and a few loyal servants, then, in true epic fashion, slaughters every suitor in an unforgettable dramatic showdown. Peace is restored. The family is reunited. The kingdom is his again.

Hollywood loves The Odyssey, and one of the smartest, funniest adaptations is the Coen Brothers’ O Brother, Where Art Thou?

It’s not set in ancient Greece at all; it takes place in 1930s Mississippi during the Great Depression, but it mirrors the epic so closely that once you see the parallels, you can’t unsee them.

The core setup is the same. A man wants to return home to his wife. He travels with companions who cause trouble. He encounters strange, magical-feeling characters. Monsters become folk figures. Gods become mysterious forces, fate, and coincidence.

Everett = Odysseus
Smooth talker, clever but flawed, way too proud, obsessed with his hair (a modern stand‑in for heroic vanity).

Penny = Penelope
She has suitors courting her, and as Everett tries to get home, he must prove himself to win her back.

Delmar & Pete = Odysseus’s crew
Loyal, impulsive, and constantly causing detours.

Here are some of their adventures as they try to get Everett home.

The Sirens: Three women washing clothes in the river hypnotize the men with singing.
The Cyclops: A one‑eyed, violent Bible salesman (John Goodman) robs them and beats them.
The Lotus-Eaters: Everett’s companions get baptized, lose sight of the mission, and forget their purpose, just like Odysseus’s men.

It’s not a literal adaptation, but it brilliantly transforms the mythic structure into American folklore, blues, and rural Southern storytelling. Gods and monsters become con men, sirens, corrupt politicians, and religious movements.

At its heart, The Odyssey is about longing for home, facing trials, battling your own flaws, and fighting to reclaim your place in the world. That’s why it still resonates with filmmakers, with writers, and with any of us who’ve ever felt lost, off‑course, or determined to rebuild our lives.

And maybe that’s why modern retellings like O Brother, Where Art Thou? feel so timeless. They remind us that every journey, whether across the sea or across the American South, is about finding your way back to yourself.

aB . All Rights Reserved . 2026

Pageboy by Elliot Page

I recently listened to the audiobook Pageboy, written and narrated by Elliot Page, and it’s one of those memoirs that stays with you long after the final chapter. I’ve admired Elliot Page as an actor for years. Whip It remains one of my all‑time favorite films, and his role in The Umbrella Academy is beautifully done, yet I realized when his book came out that I knew almost nothing about his personal journey. Hearing Pageboy in his own voice made the experience feel intimate, raw, and deeply human.

Growing up, my relationship with queerness felt fractured. I was raised in a strict Christian home, taught that being gay was a sin, but I also grew up in Europe, where the world outside my front door was far more open and accepting. It created this strange dual reality: I saw freedom all around me, yet I was told at home that who I might be was forbidden. I remember once hinting to my mother that I might like girls; the conversation ended immediately. I didn’t bring it up again. The feelings never disappeared; I learned to hide them. It wasn’t until 2022 that I could finally say the words out loud to myself: I’m gay, and it’s okay. Saying it to others took longer. Fear has a way of lingering, even when the truth feels like relief.

Listening to Elliot tell his story felt like someone turning on a light I didn’t know I needed. He speaks with incredible honesty about growing up, performing roles, both onscreen and in life, and struggling to live in a body that didn’t reflect who he was. So many of his descriptions echoed my own quiet, private discomfort. At one point, he reflects on how he saw himself before transitioning: how wearing feminine clothes felt unbearable, how summer made layering impossible, how he constantly tried to hide his chest or avoid his own reflection. When he said, “I couldn’t look at pictures because I was never there,” it stopped me. I knew exactly what he meant. I’ve lived that sensation, the disconnect between the person others see and the person you know yourself to be.

Pageboy is more than a memoir; it’s a liberation story. Elliot doesn’t shy away from the painful parts: dysphoria, shame, repression, survival. But woven through the heaviness is something bright, permission. Permission to exist, to take up space, to be whole. Listening to him articulate his truth gave me a quiet, steady reassurance that mine matters too.

For anyone who has ever questioned their gender, sexuality, or the rules they grew up with, Pageboy is a gift. For those who’ve hidden parts of themselves to stay safe, or stayed silent to keep the peace, or felt out of step with who the world told them to be, this book offers connection, understanding, and courage. Elliot doesn’t just tell you it’s okay to be yourself; he helps you believe it.

If you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community, or if you love someone who is, or if you’re simply trying to understand queer experience with more compassion, Pageboy is absolutely worth reading. Don’t hide who you are. Don’t shrink yourself. You deserve to live fully, honestly, and without apology. And as Elliot Page reminds us, that journey, difficult as it may be, is worth everything.

aB . All Right Reserved . 2026

"Trampled Calmly": A Close Reading of Hyde's First Appearance in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

When readers first meet Mr. Hyde in The Story of the Door, the introduction lasts only a few lines, but those lines are unforgettable. On page 4, Stevenson gives us a single moment that tells us almost everything we need to know about Hyde. The sentence that caught my attention was:

“…the man trampled calmly over the child’s body and left her screaming on the ground… It wasn’t like a man; it was like some damned Juggernaut.”

Even taken on its own, this line feels shocking. A close reading shows how carefully Stevenson uses word choice, tone, and comparison to create a character who feels not just cruel, but disturbingly inhuman.

The phrase “trampled calmly” is one of the most striking contradictions in the passage. “Trampled” is a violent, frantic word. It suggests chaos and harm. “Calmly” is the exact opposite; it suggests emotional control, even relaxation. Putting these words together creates something deeply unsettling.

Hyde isn’t violent because he loses control. He is violent without emotion, without hesitation, and without any sign that what he is doing matters to him. The calmness is what makes it terrifying. It presents Hyde as someone who doesn’t just do harm; he does harm effortlessly, without conscience. Stevenson signals immediately that Hyde’s cruelty is not ordinary human cruelty. It is something colder.

“It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see.”

Enfield’s comment that the event is “hellish to see” but “sounds nothing to hear” adds another layer. It suggests that Hyde’s evil is not fully captured by language alone. Even describing the event doesn’t convey the horror of witnessing it.

This detail shows two things:

• Hyde’s wrongness is felt more than understood. People react to him instinctively, emotionally.
• Stevenson intentionally creates mystery. Even the narrator cannot quite explain what makes Hyde so horrifying.

The effect is that Hyde becomes a presence the reader cannot fully grasp, only fear.

The comparison to a “damned Juggernaut” is powerful. A Juggernaut is not just a large object; it is a massive, unstoppable force that crushes anything in front of it. This metaphor makes Hyde seem larger than life, even though he is described elsewhere as small and oddly shaped.

Stevenson is telling us that Hyde is not frightening because of his physical form. He is frightening because of the overwhelming, destructive energy he gives off — a force beyond the limits of normal human behavior. He is less a man and more a concept: raw, unchecked brutality.

This brief encounter raises the central mysteries that carry the story forward:

• Who is Hyde, really?
• Why does he act with such emotionless cruelty?
• How can someone seem more force-of-nature than human?
• And how is he connected to the respectable Dr. Jekyll?

Stevenson uses this passage not only to introduce Hyde’s personality, but to hint at the novel’s larger theme: duality. The idea that within every person, there may be another self, one that does not follow rules, feel guilt, or recognize morality at all.

In just a few lines, the reader learns almost everything essential about Hyde:

• He is violent.
• He is emotionless.
• He is unnatural.
• His evil is something felt more than explained.

This single moment foreshadows the entire conflict of the novel. Hyde is not simply Jekyll’s “bad habit” or a hidden weakness. He is Jekyll’s darkest self, freed from restraint and expanding into something monstrous.

For such a short scene, the trampling incident is remarkably dense. It sets the tone, introduces the mystery, and gives the reader a powerful emotional reaction that will shape the rest of the story. Stevenson doesn’t just show us Hyde; he makes us feel the wrongness of Hyde.

Work Cited: 

Stevenson, R. L. (2003). The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Penguin Classics.

[Written for ENGL 2800 class UVU Spring 2026]
aB . All Rights Reserved . 2026